


a bathtub for mr spider

by writevale



Series: and here you are making gold out of it [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Arachnophobia, Canon Asexual Character, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Minor Body Image Issues, Nudity, Sharing a Shower, Trans Male Character, can be read as web!martin if you're that way inclined, god they're so in love though, no beta we die like men, pre-160
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23066977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writevale/pseuds/writevale
Summary: This isn'texactlyhow he’d imagined first getting undressed in front of Jon. But he had predicted how nerve-wracking it would be rather accurately indeed.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Series: and here you are making gold out of it [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657546
Comments: 40
Kudos: 402





	a bathtub for mr spider

**Author's Note:**

> a note: this fic features a trans!martin blackwood and he refers to his genitals as a dick.

There are no street lights in the area and, when twilight falls, the surrounding fields and pine-covered hills fade into the black. An amber flicker, set deep against the looming scenery, is the only sign of human activity for miles around. It takes on a muted, golden glow as a figure appears in silhouette and pulls the curtains closed.

'Do you think there'll be enough hot water for a shower?' Jon asks, turning back from the window with a yawn. Martin looks up from where he is laid on the worn sofa, a picture of cosiness in his oversized jumper. A book in one hand. A cup of tea gently steaming on the stool they were purposing as a coffee table next to him.

He smiles, 'Maybe a quick one. Mine was cold this morning.'

'You poor thing.' Jon drawls, a new playfulness to his sarcasm that Martin won't admit to finding even more attractive than the bitter bite of irony he used to chew out before. He pads around the back of the sofa and runs his fingers briefly through the smooth strands of Martin's hair. Almost hesitantly, as though he still can't quite believe that he's allowed to touch. Martin's smile widens and he tilts his head back to meet Jon's eyes, squinting slightly without the help of his glasses.

'Hey.' He says softly as Jon retrieves his hand and makes towards the door. He watches the Archivist's face twist in confusion with a wry grin. 'I think you're forgetting something.' He taps his forehead and watches Jon's face melt into amused relief. Jon's lips are soft and cool as he presses a kiss among the light smattering of freckles there. 'Have a nice shower!' He calls cheerily in response to Jon's put-on sigh.

Martin has time to take a sip of tea and find his place on the page when he hears it.

'MARTIN! I need your assistance!' A pause. 'Right now!'

He's on his feet in less than a second, slipping on the floorboards in his haste to run through to the bathroom. He finds Jon there, a towel caught in the anxious curl of his crossed arms. The rest of the bathroom, to Martin's blurred approximation, is empty. Relief floods through him. He could almost laugh with it.

'What- What is it?!'

'There's a spider in the bath.' Jon's voice is tight. Serious.

'Oh.' The tension drops from Martin's shoulders. ' _Jon_.'

' _Martin_.'

He peers into the off-white expanse of the tub. If he narrows his eyes he can just about make out a dark, fuzzy shape near the rounded glint of the plughole.

'That black speck near the plug?' He asks. The derisiveness of Jon's snort is a little wobblier than usual.

'It's hardly a speck.' He replies curtly. Martin reaches out to lay a comforting hand on his arm.

'Let me go get my glasses, okay?'

'Okay.' Jon mumbles.

When he returns, normal sight restored, Jon is glaring into the bathtub from a good metre away. With his glasses on, Martin can see the pinched panic in his expression and he tries to keep his amusement off his face. He turns his attention to the unfortunate creature in the bathtub and lets out a surprised _ooo!_ as he takes it in properly. The black smudge he had seen without his glasses was, apparently, just the spider's body but it also boasts an impressive set of thick black legs. He knows just by eyeballing the thing that Jon would strongly suggest he kill it lest it creep back in and disturb them again.

'Hah. It looks a lot bigger now.' Jon shoots him an unimpressed look, arms almost wrapped around himself. Martin reaches for him again. 'I'll get it, don't worry.'

'For God's sake, don't let it go down the plughole.'

'I won't!' Martin chuckles despite himself. He steps over the side of the bath and hears Jon make a sound that's almost a whimper.

'I'm sorry, I can't watch!' Jon all but runs away into the hall, towel floating behind him like a cape. Martin bites his lip in lieu of laughing.

'Okay, big guy.' He coos as he steps into the bath. There's a narrow window by the showerhead which lets in a chill breeze as he cracks it open. It smells of pine and salt from the nearby Loch. One thing Martin doesn’t miss about London is the smell.

He crouches and places one of his large hands in front of the spider, blocking its access to the plughole as promised. With the other, he sweeps down from behind and the terror marches its eights magnificent legs onto Martin's waiting hand. It's a simple job then to scoop it up and tip it out into the darkness where it belongs.

'It's gone!' He calls as he sets to washing his hands. He'd like it if Jon would let him touch him at some point this evening. Jon's head reappears around the side of the bathroom door and Martin gives him a reassuring smile. 'All gone.' He glances at the open window distrustfully and Martin leans over the bath to swing it shut. And lock it. 'Okay?'

'Yeah.' Jon says but his eyes roam around the bathroom wildly. Martin pushes his glasses up his nose.

They've only been in the cottage for about a week, only had this (assumed) safe space to explore the boundaries of their fledgling relationship for that tiny fraction of time. And so there were things that had yet to come up. Delicate, awkward things that might ruin the knife's edge of domesticity they had fallen into since escaping the Institute. Things like actually seeing Jon naked. And Jon seeing him-

He swallows. 'Are you sure?' The muscle in Jon’s jaw twitches as though he’s clenching his teeth together. His turbulent hazel eyes are pained when they meet Martin’s.

‘Well, I don’t think I can go in there now.’ The admission seems to cost Jon something. A slither of dignity, perhaps. Martin feels something in his chest soften. _I adore you,_ he thinks quiet and fervent . _You ridiculous man, I adore you._

'Well-' Martin starts around a bitten lip.

'Could you stay?' Jon cuts him off, quick and mumbled. 'I understand if you don't want to - I- I just-'

'Yeah, yeah of course I can, just let me-' Martin hates the creeping hot feeling that is spreading up his neck. He knows the skin will be bright red. 'How about I turn the shower on for you?'

Jon nods. His knuckles are still white around the towel.

_What are you doing?_ A panicked and insistent voice in the very forefront of Martin's mind demands. Shaky hands reach down to grab the hem of his jumper anyway and he pulls both that and his T-shirt off in one wriggling movement. Jon's eyes are a physical presence on his skin, heavy and searching. Martin can feel the hairs on his arms, shoulders, chest, stand to attention as the Archivist rakes his gaze over them and drinks it all in. _Shouldn't be hot._ He takes a fortifying breath and shuffles slightly to shield his front from Jon's eyes. His belt buckle clinks as he undoes it but Martin can barely hear it over the incessant stampede of his heart in his chest.

This isn't _exactly_ how he imagined getting undressed in front of Jon. But he had predicted how nerve-wracking it would be rather accurately indeed.

His jeans fall down and he makes quick work of his boxers. Jon might suck in a sharp intake of breath, but Martin isn't sure. He is painfully aware of the moment Jon starts to file away what the curve of his ass looks like. He feels it sear the irregular, brown birthmark on his left cheek like a brand. He almost stumbles forwards in relief as Jon seems to remember himself and finally looks away. When Martin frees himself of his socks and glances over his shoulder, the slightly shorter man is staring up at the ceiling, chest heaving and blinking rapidly. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and is dismayed to learn that his skin is as red and blotchy as he feared.

He thinks about saying: _you can look if you want to_ but his tongue feels swollen and heavy in his dry mouth so, instead, he steps into the bath silently, angling his body so that Jon isn't confronted with his privates. _We should have discussed this_ , he berates himself. The shower bursts to life as he tugs on the handle.

'Juststopmeifthisisweird.'

Jon coughs and then, in a strained voice, 'Not weird.'

'Right-o.' He mumbles.

He takes care to scrub at the spot by the plughole where the creature had been resting with his foot. It's a dim hope that the squeaking sound of his foot against the plastic will stop him fixating on the shuffling sounds of Jon getting undressed. He is _desperate_ to look. Instead, he steps under the stream of hot water, starting to perform the motions of washing himself so as not to waste the limited water they had.

'You okay?' Martin asks when he notices Jon has been quiet for some time. His heart pounds.

'Mm.'

'Oh.' Is all Martin can say when he looks over at his boyfriend. Jon is still holding the towel, mercifully in front of his hips, but he appears to be fully undressed. Martin traces the angles of brown skin down from Jon's neck, takes in the puckered scars of where the worms had been and the odd dip of his waist sans two ribs. He's really- he's _really_. He forces his eyes up to meet Jon's and finds that he looks no less anxious than before. Martin can sympathise. He definitely feels more anxious than before. 'Are you coming in?'

'I don't know if I can.' Jon says through gritted teeth. A writhing, flip-flopping feeling starts to squirm in Martin's stomach. _You idiot, Martin._ He's pushed Jon too far without _any_ discussion over whether he'd be comfortable with this and God knows what he's ruined by being so- 'Not- not because of you. Just, you know.' He nods down at Martin's feet. The relief that floods Martin is completely disproportionate to Jon's admission that he, hypothetically, would get in the shower with him. He feels himself start to smile and turns his face into the water to hide it.

'It's fine, Jon. Honestly. Look, I'm in here. I've washed the bit where the spider was. It's fine.'

Jon runs a hand through his long hair. Stressed. 'Could you-?'

'Leave?'

'No! No. The opposite, actually.'

'Oh.' There's that blush again. It deepens further as he feels Jon's eyes trace a droplet of water down the curve of his back and watch it disappear between his cheeks. 'Mhm.' He hums loudly, face scarlet. Jon looks away and he gasps a breath. _Imagine how it would feel for him to watch you-_ 'Yep. Yeah. That's fine. Of course. Come on in while the water's still hot.'

He hears the towel drop to the floor and the squeak of protest from the bath as Jon climbs in. He purposefully keeps his head level, makes eye contact with Jon and definitely not at the uncomfortable twist of his lips. Definitely not any lower than that. The shower was not made for adult men to share and Martin is hyperaware of just how close Jon's body is. He fancies he can feel the closeness of him like electricity running between their bare skin. Just like how he can feel that Jon is staring down the dip of skin above his collarbones and letting that pink tongue of his dart out to wet his bottom lip. _Fuck_. 

'Could you-?' Jon wrenches his gaze up to Martin's eyes. There's something burning in them, dark and shining, and Martin briefly forgets that he has knees.

'Uhuh?'

There's a pause where Jon is just _looking_ at him and Martin almost shakes with the restraint of not breaking their eye contact to find out what Jon has been hiding beneath those red trousers that drive him to distraction.

'. . . Pass me the soap?'

Jon washes himself rapidly. Like he doesn't want to be in the shower a second longer than he needs to. Which is fair. But rather a shame. Martin is on the receiving end of a few stray elbows but keeps his resolve to stare only at the way the water turns Jon's hair into a deep granite colour, shot through with silver the way that a slate will shimmer when it catches the light. He thinks he might be able to weave that into a poem and stores the mental image away for later.

'I-' Jon huffs as he washes the soap off his skin with aggressive little rubs. He stops. 'I want to look.'

'That's fine!' The pitch of Martin's voice reaches incredible new heights and he curses internally. 'I, um, would like to look too.'

'Fine.' Martin doesn't need the Beholding to know that Jon's grumble is one of nervousness, not angry reluctance. Jon's eyes are back on his chest and he takes that as his cue to start looking as well.

Jon bears all the signs of having, very recently, been painfully thin. His remaining ribs stick out a little as Martin lets his gaze wander down Jon's chest, marvelling over the unexpected patch of chest hair. It looks soft, even when wet. Jon has a hint of roundness to his middle that Martin wouldn't mind helping develop a little. He has a thin streak of hair that starts just about his bellybutton and tracks down to meet the thicker curl of his-

Martin's eyelids flicker closed as he feels the pressure of Jon's eyes on the part of his dick that's peeking out between his own pubic hair. _Oh my God_.

He collects himself. Opens his eyes. Jon's soft dick sits on top of his balls, the foreskin covering the head of it. The skin here is darker than the almond brown of his hairy thighs. Martin swallows as his mind automatically adjusts every dirty fantasy he'd ever dared to have about Jon to feature what he now knows about his body. _Hm. Wow._ He feels those hazel eyes on his face and blushes, feeling caught.

'You - uh - have a - um - nice -' Jon fumbles his words so badly Martin fancies he watches them swirl away into the plughole. 

'Thank you. You too.'

Jon's face does something that might be the first smile since arriving in the bathroom. 'Your hair is really brown when it's wet.' The Archivist notes intelligently.

'Yours looks like dew-covered slate in the sunlight.' Martin replies immediately and then winces. Jon lets out a startled bark of laughter, tension dropping out of his shoulders as though he is shaking them free.

' _Thank you_.' He smirks, 'Oh, the wonders of having a poet for a boyfriend.'

'Shhh!' Martin warns, the red in his cheeks an obvious stop sign. Jon laughs again and the sound warms the half of Martin's body that is not caught by the shower's spray.

'May I?' Jon is raising a hand politely, palm hovering inches from Martin's bare chest. He nods and tries not to make a sound as he feels Jon's skin slip from fingertip to palm against his own. He looks down. Jon's hand is a perfect contrast to the porcelain expanse of his chest. Martin isn't usually one for compliments when his own body is involved but _it's beautiful_. He wonders if Jon can feel the stutter of his heartbeat under his palm.

They lock eyes, hazel and green like the forest that lines the back of their new home, and Martin can see the trust in Jon's eyes. And, he's not the most experienced judge of it, but he thinks the other emotion he can see there, drowning out the rest like some great tidal wave, he thinks that might be love.

Jon's face sways slowly closer, mouth parted, and Martin can feel the whisper of his breath on his face. He leans forward. His own mouth falls open in anticipation of the soft press of lips.

'Ah! Bastard!' Jon shouts right in his face as the water turns abruptly frigid. Martin lets out a shocked yelp of his own and Jon uses Martin's chest to push himself back out of the offending stream. He fumbles to twist the handle and switch the damn thing off and turns to find his boyfriend has scrambled out of the bath and is dripping water onto the floor. He looks very unimpressed.

'Well.' He says as a shiver wracks its way down his spine. He laughs. That, at least, went some way to curbing how outrageously _nice_ he found the sight of Jon's naked body. 'Hah.'

Jon looks entirely disgruntled as he reaches down to pick his towel up. It feels like a crime to watch him cover up, but Martin is cold enough to mainly just feel a stab of envy among the whiplash of emotions from the last thirty seconds.

'Let me go get you a towel.' Jon grumbles, once he his own fastened neatly around his waist. He turns, leaving Martin shivering in the bathtub. 'Wait.' He spins back. 'I'm forgetting something again.'

'Mmf!' Martin agrees as Jon drags him down into a firm, brief kiss. There's something about kissing when one person is exposed and the other isn't that Martin wants to examine in his own time.

'Thanks.' Then he's gone, wet feet slapping like flippers on the cold cottage floor as he marches away.

Martin leans back against the damp tile of the wall and grins. _That could have gone a lot worse_. He glances up at the ceiling and his eyes catch on a wisp of cobweb, thick and grey with dust. _Thanks_.

**Author's Note:**

> I am just so full of ideas and love for the highlands pre-apocalypse boyfriends at the moment so I decided to put the works on this theme into a series. The stories aren't in chronological order and don't have an overarching plot but if you liked this one, you might enjoy the rest!


End file.
